


the five times michael misunderstood love (+ the one time he doesn't)

by pissedofsandwich



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Five Times, M/M, bandom cameos overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3361472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedofsandwich/pseuds/pissedofsandwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're in love with Calum," Luke says one day, out of the blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the five times michael misunderstood love (+ the one time he doesn't)

#1

"You're in love with Calum," Luke says one day, out of the blue. Michael blinks, takes in the serious look on Luke's face and shrugs, nods. Goes along with whatever Luke hopes to achieve with this conversation. Honestly, isn't it obvious? He loves Calum. That guy has been his best friend for nearly ten years. It's hard not to love someone who's stuck with you for that long.

"Of course I do," says Michael, simple, like it means nothing. His fingers are splayed on his beaten up guitar, fiddling with a new song he's struggling to compose. It's his and Luke's turn write, and they've been holed up in the studio for about three hours. They haven't exactly been productive. If only you could pull out a song out of your ass. Sadly, writing doesn't work that way. So far they've got the first verse done, and working on the chorus, but Luke is currently bitching over the fact that they've used same combination of chords again, moaning that "it'll sound just like every other song we ever wrote!" as if he's the only one struggling with this.

"Let's face it, we're never gonna be as punk rock as we want to be," Michael sighs. His eyes skim over the paper. "The chords for Black Parade are exactly the same, but why doesn't ours sound just as badass?"

"Because, my friend, they're _My Chem_ ," Luke says reasonably. He snatches the paper from Michael, ignoring his protests. He's got that serious look on his face again. "No, I didn't mean that kind of love. Like, love _love_. You're in love with Calum, aren't you?"

If Michael's confused before, now he's exasperated. "Gimme the paper back, Luke. I'm actually trying to work here."

Luke, the asshole, just folds the paper in two and stuffs it inside the pocket of his jeans. His tight, fitting, hella skinny jeans. The paper's basically molded itself to Luke's skin by now. Michael groans.

"We're all in love with Calum, let's be real here. He's hot. Remembering the whole band marriage thing? He is also a pain in the ass, but that's beside the point. Now give it back, Luke. You don't want me groping into your jeans."

Luke stares at him incredulously. He lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. Michael extends one expectant arm, eyebrows up to his hairline, and Luke shakes his head again. He reaches into the pocket of his jean leg and hands Michael back his paper.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Luke says, half to himself, a few minutes later when they've written the chorus, now trying out different chords and melodies.

Michael shifts from B to C#m.

"What do I not get?"

Luke snorts. "Yeah, you really don't get it."

#2

Michael doesn't think about his weird conversation with Luke, not until his next writing session comes and he's huddled with Ashton in the studio, nearly two weeks later. He's had something in his head for a while, something about falling in love with your best friend, because the management wants something slow and sappy. Also because, apparently, the mainstream media loves cliches. Ashton is reading what he's got so far, setting his chin on the side of Michael's self-tuning guitar. He's sitting on a stool that he's dragged away from his drum kit. Michael watches his expression warily from the couch.

"So?"

"It's good," Ashton says, grinning, earnest, and Michael lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Man, you really are in love with Calum, aren't you?" And although it confuses Michael - what's with Luke and Ashton questioning his love for Calum lately- his answer is immediate. "Of course I do," he says. "Why are you asking?"

Ashton blinks at him twice. "I didn't mean it that way."

"How exactly did you mean it?"

"Like... love. _Real_ love."

"So there's a fake love?"

"No!" Ashton runs his hand down his face. "Listen to your words, Michael. This line on the first verse, _I've known your eyes for ten years_. And on the chorus, _no words will ever suit you_. Remember when you tried to describe Calum in three words and came up with nothing? And the sister thing on the bridge, _tell your sister you might marry before her_. Aren't those lines supposed to be mean something?"

"Yes," Michael looks at Ashton like he's just told him the sky is blue, the water is liquid. "It's supposed to be a _love song_."

Ashton takes one look at him and laughs, out loud and obnoxious. "Man, I really can't believe you," Ashton says, and only responds by laughing louder when Michael asks him why. Michael stops asking after five minutes. He still doesn't understand what's so funny.

Well, at least he's got another song done.

#3

The third person to approach him with the same statement is Alex Gaskarth. This also occurs during studio time. Some days, Michael still can't bring himself to believe that he's friends with Alex fucking Gaskarth. It's harder to believe that he's recording a song with Alex Gaskarth. They've been trying to find a way to make the song work, how to make five different voices fit into one song without sounding a little too much like a boyband. In the end, Luke suggests that Michael take the lead for this song, along with Calum.

"You should sing it," Luke says. "I mean, I've already got like, five different solos. Bet by now the recording guys will be sick of hearing my voice."

"Also, I will be busy drumming," Ashton reasons. "It's a pretty punk rock song."

"We all sing," Calum argues, "That's the deal!"

Eventually, after arguing for another ten minutes, they finally agree that this song should be given up to Michael and Calum while Ashton and Luke sing small parts and harmonize. Mostly. Michael makes them promise to let Ashton sing more though, because his voice needs more recognition.

Alex agrees. "Calum can totally hit those notes. And you can totally groan sexily."

Michael punches Alex on the upper arm. "Of course that's what you remember from all my great musical prowess," he pretends to grumble. Alex just ruffles his currently flaming red hair. So at the moment, he's watching Calum kill it in the vocal booth, or whatever the hell you call it. Alex stands beside him, watching just as intently, only by the end of it, he's got a knowing smile on his face. When Calum finally gets out, and Luke and Ashton tackle the next verse, Alex elbows his ribs and waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"So, Calum, huh?"

Michael scoffs. "Are you gonna ask me if I'm in love with Calum, too?"

"Too?"

"Ashton and Luke have been telling me that I'm in love with Calum."

Alex looks amused. "Well, are you?"

"Of course I am," Michael says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, rolling his eyes like he can't believe anyone would even dare to think otherwise. "He's my best friend."

Something in Alex's face turns soft. His smile looks a little sad. "I was, too. In love with my best friend, I mean. Once. Still."

Michael is about to say something, then suddenly Alex is called in and he's left to ponder on his own what could that possibly mean.

#4

After that brief little confusing conversation with Alex, Michael finds himself lying on a queen-sized bed in a large hotel room. He's been roomed with Ashton for the night, but the older boy's still out haunting McDonald's to satisfy his midnight cravings.

Luke is not the first one to think he's in love with Calum. In fact, his mother is. He was probably ten at the time, and his mother had watched him with that knowing look that all mothers have as he talked her ears off about this one boy he met at school. He and Calum hadn't been friends for that long. Three days, at most. Yet his mother smiled that smile that seems to know all the answers to the mysteries of the universe, and said, "You really love him, don't you?"

He remembers telling his mother that no, not yet. "I like Calum, but not love." It's what he'd told his mother. Back then, he didn't know that what his mother meant is, "you're going to love him, ten years from now, you will still love him the same way you do now."

His mother was right.

But. Love. Such an overused word, and yet nobody in the world knows what it really means.

He can't fall asleep after that, his mind whirling and refusing to shut up. He gets his phone from the nightstand and texts Calum.

One minute and nine seconds later, Calum knocks on his door and crawls into bed, fitting himself beside Michael. It's like he's always belonged there. Michael grasps Calum's hand, the way he liked to do when they were both young and having sleepovers every weekend, giggling about the movies they had watched and Ninja Turtles, wondering if best friends treat one another like this, wondering what Ashton meant by real love, wondering what Alex meant when he said he was once and still in love with his best friend.

Cal presses a kiss to the top of his head and tells him to go to sleep.

Michael dreams of brown eyes and first kisses that night.

#5

One of the most exciting thing about being in an internationally famous band is getting invited to award shows. Getting nominated is also exciting, but Michael doesn't really care if they lose or win. Meeting new people, celebrities and singers and bands he adored growing up is the more exciting part from award shows. Usually, Michael enjoys solitude. He tolerates socialization. For award shows, he chooses to make an exception. Award shows are exciting. Especially when it's the APMAs.

"Holy shit," Calum says from somewhere behind him as they make their way towards the red carpet, "I think I just saw Pete Wentz."

Michael laughs. Ever since Pete defended Calum on Twitter, Calum had been going back to his middle school emo phase and started obsessing over Fall Out Boy again. They're actually nominated for an award alongside them- Michael knows they don't stand a chance against Fall Out Boy, but whatever. As stated before, Michael couldn't care less whether they lose or win; he just wants to have fun.

After the short interview at the red carpet, he left Luke and Ashton to hang out with All Time Low and Calum to his Pete Wentz-hunting. Michael is determined to meet someone new-- Hayley Williams would be nice, he totally should trade hair care tips with her, her hair is always so crazy, or maybe the guys from Sleeping With Sirens…

Too busy scanning the crowd for possible new friends, he bumps into Patrick Stump.

Which is. Wow.

"I'm sorry!" Michael says immediately, because nobody, nobody hurts Patrick Stump. He's like a precious flower. A special snowflake. He bends down to pick up Patrick's fallen fedora, and the sheepish smile the older man offers him in return is so cute Michael might get cavities. It's hard to believe Patrick is 30 years old. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Must be the height, eh?" Patrick grins, and Michael immediately feels like an asshole. Except is true. Fall Out Boy is a band of really short people. Patrick waves off his apologies though, not looking offended or even slightly irritated. He just smiles. "So you're from that Aussie band, 5SOS?"

"Yes," Michael says, after the initial oh God Patrick Stump recognizes me! My band! shock passed. "We, um, we aren't that good."

"Naw, don't say that. All bands evolve and get better," Patrick says, smiling again. Michael is convinced his name is under the definition of sunshine. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced. Patrick Stump," he says, extending his hand.

Michael shakes it, slightly dazed. "Michael Clifford," he says.

"I heard a lot about your band. Good stuff though, don't worry."

Michael laughs, feeling a little nervous despite the reassurance. Fall Out Boy isn't a huge influence on them (their lyric game is equivalent to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star compared to Fall Out Boy lyrics, and besides, nobody is as much of a genius as Patrick Stump when it comes to music. Except maybe Brendon Urie), Patrick is a huge influence in the pop punk genre. Fall Out Boy may have changed their sound, but Patrick Stump is still golden, a role model to everything. Michael thinks back of his middle school days, how everybody is banging their heads to Thnks fr th Mmrs and harboring a huge crush on Pete Wentz. Calum definitely went through that phase. For Michael though, it’s always been Patrick, who was cute in all his chubby glory, who may or may not have been his wet dream material, who is right now presenting him with a megawatt genuine smile.

Michael's trying to impress him, trying to find the right words, interesting topics. Anything to make him less like a dumb idiot. Out of all the things he can’t master, why does it have to be socialization? Around new people, Michael is awkward at best. Around Patrick Stump, his once-fantasy, Michael is useless as a missing pair of shoe.

He wishes Calum was here. He’s always been the social butterfly out of the two of them, charming girls and boys and record labels. He’s probably doing it right now, his natural flirty self making a great impression on Pete Wentz, getting introduced to girls in tight little skirts, leaking with confidence and kissing a lot of people.

His heart clenches at the thought of that and he wonders why. Thinking is dangerous for him. Get lost in his mind, and Michael will be struggling to come back. He hates when he gets like this, overthinking and spacing out, the only thoughts the ones he shouldn’t consider. Calum is usually the one he runs to when things get like this, when the room becomes too stuffy to breathe, but he isn’t here--

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches the familiar sight of messy dark hair. Calum. An arm slung around his waist, a shock of long blonde hair falling across his shoulders, a girl leaning on his side. It’s not a rare sight. Calum is… expressive about his sexual preference. He thinks back on Luke’s question, Ashton’s question, Alex’s question, and he wonders, what gave it away?

“...hurts, isn’t it?”

Patrick’s voice jerks him back to reality. His surroundings, which seem to be muted until Patrick speaks, becomes more real, and Michael realizes he’s probably been neglecting Patrick. “Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly. “I just-- spaced out.”

“I do that a lot,” Patrick waves it off easily. “Your head’s sometimes just too big of a place, right?”

“Yeah, exactly like that,” Michael agrees sheepishly. “It’s just-- something on my mind. It’s been bothering me a lot.”

Patrick nods. “That happens. Something I can help with? Family stuff, label’s being a jerk, music, girls? Okay, I totally suck at girls, so maybe cross that off the list. I can help with—oh,” Patrick follows Michael’s line of view and understands.

The fourth person to ask him if he’s in love with his best friend is Patrick Stump, and he says it softly, gingerly, as if he’s been in Michael’s place, a lifetime ago, when it’s all about you and me against the world, _you and me_ , a two men gang.

Michael answers, “I don’t know.”

(+1)

They didn't win the award, but they party anyway. Jack buys them all drinks and calls him a pussy when he makes some excuse about being sick when he doesn't want to do body shots with them, but he gets a sympathetic pat on the back and Jack leaves him to his lone glass of beer, so he thinks they're on good terms. The blonde girl from earlier is still with Calum, her hip attached with his, laughing, drinking. Michael looks away, his eyes burning, thinks about love and what everyone has been saying about love. Four letters, _l-o-v-e_ , what the poets write about, what the painters dream to capture, what the musicians sing out loud about: _I love you, you make my heart fifty times bigger, I love you, I'm in love with you._

Calum was the high school dream: captain of the football team, a cheerleader for a girlfriend. Michael was the town's travesty: unwilling to get out of bed, had his life revolved around digital characters on the screen and the kind of music that is often associated with dark clothes and tattoos. They're not supposed to be best friends, but they are, have been for ten years. Each other's first kiss, huddled underneath the cover under the pretense of practicing for girls. Girls are always for Calum. Michael loves girls; they just don't love him as much as he does. He still remembers how envious he was of Luke's musical talents. He thought Calum was going to leave him for Luke, a better singer, a better guitar player, a better Michael. But Calum didn't. They'd hugged and told each other I love yous, and even when Calum brushed it off with a 'no homo' the words left a tingling sensation on Michael's tongue. He loves Calum.

He's in love with Calum.

And it hits like a stab to the heart, fatal, the only thing keeping all the blood inside is the knife.

He looks to the right and Calum is kissing her, hands covering her cheeks, hands roaming all over her bodies, and Michael wonders if his lips taste the same way, if Calum still makes that little startled gasps, if Calum is kissing her with the intention of staying forever with her because Michael doesn't think he can deal with that, ever. So he stands up, tells everyone that he's sick, and goes back to his hotel room. He keeps the lights on and disappears underneath the cover. Somewhere between tossing around restlessly and counting stars (none, there are none), he falls asleep.

He wakes up a few hours later to a little dip on the bed, a little rustle on the sheets. Calum smells like cigarettes and stale beer, and he grins like the sun is in his veins when he notices that Michael is awake because of him. "Sorry," he says. "You didn't turn the lights off. What is it? Can't handle a little cold?" His hand flies up to feel Michael's forehead. "Not sick. So what is it?"

"I don't know. It's-- it's stupid. Go to sleep, Calum."

"No, hey, whatever it is, it's not stupid. Tell me," they're both laying on their side, facing each other, it's dark and they're under the cover, and Michael feels young. He catches Calum's hand. Calum squeezes his hand, comforting. "Tell me."

"But you're not allowed to hate me."

"Mikey," Calum sighs. "Unless you commit a murder or hurt a baby animal, I will never have the guts to hate you. Okay, maybe I'll pardon you if you kill someone, but I'll be really mad if you decide to kill someone and not ask me to be your partner in crime. I will be offended, but even then I won't hate you completely. Is it meeting Patrick? Worried that somehow he found out that you jerked off to a picture of him on 8th grade? Or is it--"

"I'm in love with you," Michael breathes out.

"Oh," Calum says. Michael closes his eyes, afraid of what he will see. "Michael," Calum says, " _Michael_ ," again, forcefully, and he hears a rustle, the bed dipping. He opens his eyes, and Calum is staring down at him. There's no disgust in his eyes. There's only the same look that Michael is sure is in his eyes whenever he looks at Calum. Calum takes his wrists, pin them on either side of Michael's head, and dives down, kissing him. "I'm in love with you too," Calum says between kisses, "Idiot, I've been wanting to say that to you my whole life, sometimes I want to scream it from the rooftops. Do you realize that all the girls I've dated are all like you?" He presses their foreheads together, tender, too close but not close enough. Calum kisses him again, Michael pliant and willing underneath him, the knife is taken out, his heart is bandaged like it's never been hurt.

Calum pushes his shirt up to his armpits, kissing his way down, his hands finally letting go of Michael's wrists. His mouth is hot and wet, his teeth grazing Michael's nipples just a little and Michael can't help the breathless gasps that come out. His hands fly to grasp at Calum's hair, pulling a little, and Calum groans, loving it. He hooks two fingers underneath Michael's waistband, pulling down just a little, mouthing at his hips, the soft hair just under his bellybutton. Michael arches his back, his heart beating in anticipation, his breath hitching in his throat as Calum mouths around him. The friction is unbelievable, the frustration making him claw at the sheets. Calum moves slowly, his hands gripping the base, thorough. "Oh God," Michael whimpers.

Calum, the asshole, he smirks up from where he's situated, hovering above Michael with both of his legs bracketing Michael's, and says, "Nope, just Calum."

Michael laughs, can't help but pull Calum up in a kiss. Michael opens his mouth, making room for Calum to lick inside, and both of them shudder. Michael slides his hands up Calum's shirt, fingers ghosting over his side, his chest. He breaks the kiss to navigate his lips down the curve of Calum's neck, biting at it, licking. Calum lets out a startled gasp, the way he used to, and Michael pulls away to choke out, "You still do," and Calum kisses him again, slow and deliberate, as if trying to tell him something.

Michael understands.

**Author's Note:**

> plot bunnies hit me in the middle of writing part 2 of that coffee shop au. it's supposed to be like, 3k words long, now it's exceeded my 10 page target and still not any close to the end. i got pissed with the story, so i digged up some old shit and found this.
> 
> i know nothing of song-writing. i just know that it's hard, you can't pull it out of your ass, and it took a hella long time. or maybe that's just he musically disabled me talking. this is fiction, i make no profit out of this, no characters are harmed, blah blah. i would apologize for the bandom cameos, but i love alex and patrick. so i'm not sorry. at all. all mistakes are mine. comments and kudos greatly appreciated. talk to me on tumblr at mighty-poffertjes. c:


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